The French understood centuries ago what we Americans are only now rediscovering: lavender belongs in the kitchen as much as the garden. In Provence, cooks have stirred it into honey, scattered it over lamb, and infused it into summer drinks since Roman times. This lemonade follows that tradition.

The technique requires restraint. Lavender wants to dominate. Give it ten minutes of steeping and no more. What you're after is a whisper, not a shout: floral notes that dance behind the lemon's brightness, appearing and retreating with each sip. The color should be the palest purple, like early morning light through wisteria.

I first encountered this drink at a small café in Aix-en-Provence, where an elderly woman served it in thick glass tumblers with more lavender than I thought wise. She was right and I was wrong. The fresh sprigs floating in the glass released their fragrance as you drank, transforming a simple beverage into an experience. I've served it at countless gatherings since, and it never fails to quiet a room with its beauty.